Love

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Love is an elusive slippery

String that tangles and knots

In my fingers.

Sometimes it sorts itself out

Sometimes it cuts me and just

Sometimes I cut it off.

People who had a deposit of me

Feel empty and breakable and far too bleak.

New faces I have as mine

But I cannot go till the extent of making them only mine.

Love is an elusive and slippery thing

That does not sit in the cavity of my chest.

It spills through my eyes and sits on my sleeves

This envious eagle always peeks

Claws digging into my own two arms.

I love difficult but full and intense

I love easy, but it hurts as hell

The only love that feels secure

Safe and warm and pure

Sits miles away.

With my soul, giving and hands on my cold arms

I exist in a foreign land

Where love exists, but only in convenient times

And there is an intellectual and mechanical training of my mind.

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~insight07 •

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